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The mother caught her little girl to her, sinking down upon her knees, putting her arms around her, holding her close. "No, no, gry all so mudge es you want. Say dot you are hongry. Say ut egen, say ut all de dime, ofer end ofer egen. Say ut, poor, starfing, leedle babby. Oh, mein poor, leedle tochter. My Gott, oh, I go crazy bretty soon, I guess. I cen't hellup you.
I cen't ged you noddings to eat, noddings, noddings. Hilda, we gowun to die togedder. Put der arms roundt me, soh, tighd, leedle babby. We gowun to die, we gowun to vind Popper. We aindt gowun to be hongry eny more." "Vair we go now?" demanded Hilda. "No places. Mommer's soh tiredt. We stop heir, leedle while, end rest." Underneath a large bush that afforded a little shelter from the wind, Mrs.
I cen't vind any subber. We got noddings to eat, noddings, noddings." "When do we have those bread'n milk again, Mammy?" "To-morrow soon py-and-py, Hilda. I doand know what pecome oaf us now, what pecome oaf my leedle babby." She went on, holding Hilda against her shoulder with one arm as best she might, one hand steadying herself against the fence railings along the sidewalk.
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